


slipping

by freakedelic



Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [19]
Category: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Bad end, Cockwarming, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mindbreak, Noncontober 2020, Penis In Vagina Sex, Survivor Guilt, Trans Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26587252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakedelic/pseuds/freakedelic
Summary: If he wasn’t quite here, if he didn’t quite exist—it might hurt less. Slipping out of his skin and . . . what? Becoming something else? Forgetting everything that makes him who he is?
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917016
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	slipping

**Author's Note:**

> noncontober day 19: mindbreak, whumptober day 19: grief, mourning, survival's guilt, kinktober day 19: cockwarming  
> this was supposed to be posted yesterday but ao3 got messed up and i didn't double check. so here it is.

When he looks down, Robin can see his thighs spreading over Slade’s lap, knees not quite reaching the couch. His stomach disappears into perspective, snug against Slade’s abdomen. He can _feel_ Slade’s cock inside him, even if it’s hidden by his body, sheathed all the way. Moving too much is a bad idea. That only inspires Slade to pause the work he’s doing to fuck him, leaving Robin with come uncomfortably dripping onto his thighs.

So all he does is lean forward, resting his head against Slade’s collar bone. It’s hard, but Slade’s muscle is hard. Most of him is hard, most of the time. Robin—is soft. Not just in sentiment, as Slade always says, but in his body, too. There’s no reason to fight, after all. Not with everyone gone.

Not with only _Robin_ left.

He wonders why it was _him_ , sometimes. Him that Slade wanted. Starfire would’ve been prettier—did he wish it were her? He can’t decide if it would be crueler to give her this fate, in the hypothetical, or to let her die as she had. Both are miserable. Robin wishes he had died, sometimes. But that would condemn her to this. He should’ve asked her, taken whatever fate she did not want.

Robin wishes, very suddenly, that he had at least been able to say goodbye. To have had a picture of her face in his mind to remember every feature of, or the feeling of her hands in his, as a last bit of comfort. All he can remember now is the lines of Slade’s face, his calloused hands running over his body, and the man’s _cock_ buried so deep in him it hurts to even think about.

Slade’s heartbeat, even, pounds in his ear. It’s calm and heavy, thrumming through him with the same utter finality of the man himself. It’s familiar. Almost, almost comforting.

If he wasn’t quite _here_ , if he didn’t quite _exist_ —it might hurt less. Slipping out of his skin and . . . what? Becoming something else? Forgetting everything that makes him who he is?

_You’re not Robin anymore,_ Slade had told him, a cool smile on his face. _You’re_ mine. _Nothing more. I intend to teach you how to be . . . useful._

How he had screamed and fought when Slade had forced him to the bed and laughed in his ear about how he hadn’t expected to find a _cunt_ on a hero like him. Even that seems fuzzy and far-away, now. How long ago was it, again?

So long. And no time at all.

The only real thing is Slade’s body, warm against him. It’s been so long. All his tears have dried up. But his hands are curled around the last of himself, bent around it and refusing to let go. Nobody is prying it out of his hands. He is only protecting it from himself, as it cuts him open and bleeds him out.

There is nothing left to remember for. Would Starfire forgive him, if she were here? For letting them slip through his fingers like sand? Or would she hate him?

She should hate him. He hates himself. But he would forget the hate, too. There would be nothing except the warmth inside him and around him, or the pain when he was hurt. It would be nothing like the pain in his mind that cuts him wide and tears him open.

Robin’s mind tries to close around the last little bit he has of himself. It’s like trying to catch water in his fist. It slips away downstream no matter how tight he holds on.

He watches it go and it _hurts_ , but that’s just a little bit more numb, too. It will be a tragedy when he loses it all, he thinks. When all he knows is _Slade_. But it will be a relief, too.

To _end_ in every way that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> hnnnng i love hurting dick :)


End file.
